


Could

by MyckiCade



Series: A Criminal's Criminal [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Compromised Jim, M/M, altered storyline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald barely has the front door closed, before he is pushed up against it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MillicentCordelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham. I am not that clever. This work is for fan enjoyment only. No infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: Ten minute sprint I did, when I was between chapters of '(You Can) Never, Ever Leave'. Nothing spectacular. But, before I forget that I have it... Here it is! ^^!

Oswald barely has the front door closed, before he is pushed up against it. Lips are at his neck, in an instant, the warmth of them a shiver-inducing contrast against his chilled skin. He's been expecting this, honestly. James doesn't do well, when left alone for days at a time. Truth be told, he tends to get a little, well,  _jittery_ . He wouldn't call it need, nor dependence. It's something else, entirely. He just... He hasn't figured out just  _what_ 'it' is, yet.

“J-Ja-Ahhh...” He tries to pull away, strong arms wound 'round his waist holding him in place. “James, please... I've barely been home for a full minute.”

The first portion of James' response comes in the form of a growl. “ _I know,_ ” he sees fit to remind his captive, raising his head to glare at the younger man. “Three God damned days, Oswald. Why the hell didn't you call me?”

Here, Oswald swallows. Whether or not he cares to admit it, James  _does_ have a point. “Believe me, it was in your best interest that we had no contact.” Again, he tries to put some distance between them, to no avail. Sighing, he drops his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Oh, how tired he is, a deep ache that he swears he can feel, straight down to his bones. All that he wants is to remove his clothes, and climb into bed. Surely, this round of The Third Degree can wait until he's been able to catch a bit of shut-eye.

Unfortunately, James makes it  _very clear_ that he has other ideas. “Oh, really? So, it's in my best interest to sit here and fucking  _panic,_ when you don't come home, at night?”

Another sigh. “That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?” Oswald shakes his head, a bit, his eyes still closed. “You never panic, James. It's not in your nature.”

“Fine,” James all but spits, arms pulling away, until he can get a firm grip on Oswald's hips. His fingers press down, a bit too hard, causing Oswald to flinch. “But...” Oswald opens his eyes, watching as Jim looks away, a frown on his face. “Don't think you didn't scare the hell out of me...”

Well, this is unexpected. “What could have  _possibly_ scared you? You know that there are nights when I don't come home.”

“Yeah, but, you've never  _not_ come home, the next day.” Damn, James had him, there. “Or, at the very least,  _called me,_ to let me know you'd be fucking  _disappearing,_ for days, on-end.”

Again, Oswald could argue over the dramatic nature of that statement. Could, but chooses not to. He's learning to pick his battles with this man, rather well. “All right,” he placates, instead. “You're...  _absolutely right,_ James...” Their eyes meet, and Oswald puts on his best, most convincing smile. “I'm sorry. It won't happen, again.”

And, wouldn't you know, that hyper-observant little bastard can see right through it?

“Bullshit,” James replies, but, some of the anger is gone from his tone. He's starting sound rather, well... defeated, really. It's a start. He sighs, and Oswald knows he's giving in. Slowly, but surely. “Just... Next time, at least send me a text, or something, huh?”

Oswald wrinkles his nose, a bit. “How impersonal.”

“As opposed to not saying a word, for three days?” James scoffs.

Ah-ha. “Noted,” he replies, trying, once more – and, finally succeeding – to work his way out of the larger man's clutches. He moves toward the stairs, speaking to James, over his shoulder. “Now, I am going to have a bath, and a few hours of sleep.”

He's nearly half-way up the stairs, when he hears a quiet, “Yeah, okay. Enjoy yourself.”

A smirk. “Well, I never said I would be opposed to company.”

Yes, Oswald is tired. And, yes, he really shouldn't have to answer for his whereabouts, especially when he has his reasons for keeping them a secret. And,  _yes,_ he  _really_ needs to work on some ground rules with his favourite associate. But, once a grinning James Gordon is racing up the stairs, behind him, he finds himself letting it all go. After all, he could be all alone, with no one to worry whether or not he ever walked through the front door, again.

He'll take being shoved up against a door (a wall, a shower), any day.


End file.
